Hot
by IngridSarah
Summary: Wesley is having some...er...psychological issues with Faith. The missing fourth in the Torture series is missing no more!


AN: I just rediscovered this story (the fourth in my "Torture" series)   
I wrote a few years ago. A big thanks to Syn for helping me find it   
again! Looking back on this fic, I'm not entirely satisfied with every   
aspect, but I'm posting it in its original form here anyway. Please   
keep this in mind when you're sending me hate mail. =D  
  
~~  
  
Title: Hot   
Author: IngridSarah   
Disclaimer: I know very well I ought not/steal Joss' stuff for my plot/   
I'm aware it's illegal/but I'm rather evil/so don't you dare tell the   
crackpot.   
Summary: Wesley's having some…um…psychological issues with Faith   
post-"Torture." This is set after my last story, "Blunt."   
  
  
~~   
  
"Come on. Admit it, Wes. Didn't you always have the hots for me?"   
  
He didn't think he had ever been so *aware* of his whole body at once.   
It was as if he were taking stock of all its parts the way she must   
have been, seeking out his most vulnerable places. The difference was,   
whereas he was sensing them all with uncertain trepidation, she already   
knew: that spot on the inside of his elbow; his fingertips; his thighs.   
He was already cringing, his soft parts throbbing with expectancy.   
  
When the sock slipped off his foot, he licked his lips in anticipation.   
Fingers and toes. He had been gritting his teeth the whole time,   
attempting to exert an invisible force outside his body to counteract   
everything she was sending in. Most people thought of the body as a   
sort of carrying crate for the soul. He knew better than that. If his   
body was a crate, she had already found the cracks in it.   
  
He jerked as far up as the bonds would take him when her finger found   
the inside of his foot. She knew her art too well; she knew that a   
light touch, just then and there, would send him into spasms. Was she   
already burning him? He felt so hot, like the little flame on the   
bottom of his foot was heating the blood there and sending it running   
back through his body, scorching his veins.   
  
"Faith," he murmured into his gag. He tried to stop himself even before   
he said it, but the urge to cry out was so strong. He was relieved when   
the cloth transformed his embarrassing words into nothing more than a   
desperate hum.   
  
That's when her leg wrapped around his waist and she sat directly over   
his…   
  
Her hair brushed against the little cuts on his neck and shoulders as   
she stretched over him, her stinging fingers lemon on his cooked red   
shoulders. The heat rose from him like it did after a painful exertion   
was over and his brain finally had time to catch up.   
  
He had to force himself to bite his lip so that he could keep his   
promise not to scream. It was so hot that sweat was dripping from his   
hairline into his eyes where it burned the picture in front of him so   
that it became incomprehensible.   
  
  
~~~   
  
"I love you." It came to him disembodied, wearing her voice as if she   
were trying out the words for the first time and they didn't quite fit.   
  
It was funny how he could feel so hot in some places, while ice was   
freezing his veins everywhere else. She rose and fell again over that   
one spot which was so warm and pliable while the rest of him felt so   
cold that he could almost feel the flesh turning to marble. His heart   
slowed down with the cold poison entering its chambers, filling it up   
with hardness so that it could no longer palpitate. His eyeballs rested   
on the ice in his head, numbing the sight before him, distorting what   
he saw like a propaganda machine.   
  
All he had to do was lie there, her dangling hair obscuring his vision   
as he became hot *there,* her salty hands rubbing flesh that still felt   
raw. She pinched his skin with such a twist that for a moment he   
wondered if she had a knife, and he was still back in that chair…   
  
He lifted her shirt with clumsy fingers and ran the heel of his palm   
over the 3 inch scar on the right side of her navel. He wanted to grab   
her belly there, laying claim to her body the way she had his. It was   
like a seam in a stuffed toy that he could rip open, pulling out the   
warm cotton.   
  
Heat melted things together; made solid things run like liquid. He felt   
his insides turn to wax and begin to fill his lungs, and even though he   
couldn't breathe, he felt fuller than he had in his entire life.   
  
He had once wondered about these red spots on his body that he got from   
time to time: a perfectly straight line across his abdomen, an   
asymmetrical splotch over the base of his throat, always the same. It   
was as if his body had scars that he himself could not remember. But it   
made sense. He hurt too much in this life for only the blows he could   
recall.   
  
~~~   
  
"Wesley?" Her voice was warm and tired, and more like a gentle rumbling   
in his ear than anything else. Dull lamps losing light dissipated the   
black of the dark room, turning it into a tepid brown-grey. He realized   
that the ropes were gone and they were on the couch, his head resting   
on Faith's chest. If he hadn't been hot before, he was now as he   
flushed with embarrassment and confusion and sat upright.   
  
"I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep and…"   
  
"It's ok." She was grinning at him for his manners again. They were   
still touching…   
  
Shoulder to shoulder, they had been, the inside of his elbow hovering   
near her side, his fingers resting loosely near her thigh, and his eyes   
glued shut like something sticky and warm covered them, giving   
everything a glow that didn't really exist except inside his mind.   
  
"Are you okay?"   
  
Shoulder to shoulder, for months, over books, under covers, and in   
front of a television like this one, and he had never once reached out   
and…   
  
"Wes…" It had taken her a moment to see his face in the dark. He felt   
like a sandbag when she pulled him into her arms and his head flopped   
over her shoulder. Her hands heated his cool neck through his collar as   
he wondered what her face looked like. Was she smiling? Was she going   
to tear through his back as soon as he saw it? She started to pull   
away, but he clung to her, not wanting to know.   
  
If he just kept his eyes closed…   
  
His fingers trembled, wondering what time it was--what day and year,   
and why Faith's body was so warm and sure against his… His cheek slid   
against hers; the desert sun and a pathetic little ice cube. He caught   
her lips on the way, and held on so she couldn't rush away again like   
the tide. Her bright red lipstick branded his cheeks and seared his   
lips.   
  
Suddenly her hands stopped square on his chest, right above his scars.   
They parted, and he felt the cool air swirling between them again, a   
shot of air conditioner turning his mouth dry and his body cold. His   
cheeks turned pink nevertheless--inside, he was very, very hot.   
  
"Wesley?"   
  
~~~   
END 


End file.
